


Growth

by Bow



Category: Royal Tenenbaums (2001)
Genre: Gen, Yuletide, Yuletide 2004, challenge:Yuletide 2004, recipient:translikelance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2004-12-24
Updated: 2004-12-24
Packaged: 2017-10-14 01:40:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 924
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/143959
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bow/pseuds/Bow
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Margot and Richie revisit ancient history.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Growth

**Author's Note:**

  * For [translikelance](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=translikelance).



The winter that Margot Tenenbaum turned forty years old, two days after the first heavy snowfall of the season, she returned for the first time to the African Wing of the Public Archives. She arrived at the museum in the early afternoon. She was late, of course, but so nearly punctual that it was almost noteworthy.

The Public Archives were much the same as they had been when Margot was ten years old, only this time all the displays seemed smaller--not to mention the fact that she was visiting on a more temporary basis. She had to squint to read the tiny print explaining the dioramas, and even the heavy, leather-bound atlases--which had once been so large that she'd needed both hands to turn the pages--she could now leaf through by just using her thumb.

She was leaning against the wall in a poorly-lit corner, rifling through the glossy pages of maps without absorbing any particular meaning from them, when she heard Richie's footsteps. One moment she was staring at a topographical map of the Ivory Coast, tracing its wavy outline with her finger, and the next, Richie was smiling right beside her, with small snowflakes in his hair that were just beginning to melt.

Richie took his hands out of the pockets of his warmest winter coat and rested them on top of the display case. "I was just thinking about the last time," he said, tapping idly and leaving fingerprints on the glass. "Thinking about it a lot, actually. It was a long cab ride here from the 375th Street Y."

"You'll have to be more specific than that," Margot said by way of greeting, reaching up to brush the snow out of Richie's hair. "Thinking about what?"

"The last time we were here, I mean. Thirty years ago."

"I figured that much," she said, "and I remember when it was. I was there, too, after all. We sat underneath this table with flashlights and drank root beer."

"Yes, root beer. I got four cavities that winter. Four! I'll never forget the look on Doctor Coleman's face when he told me." Richie bent his head and sighed. "And how did the two of us ever sit under this table together, anyway? I don't think I could even fit beneath it by myself now."

"Is that surprising to you?" asked Margot. "It's been thirty years. In that time, a person tends to grow."

And she thought back again to the long-ago winter when she had to climb on top of the display cases in order to reach the uppermost shelves, to the time when she had to stand on her tiptoes and stretch her whole body, fingers extended. Because the best part of that winter in the Public Archives, besides Richie, was how everything there was just a bit too big for the two of them, but it had all been theirs anyway.

There was something that had felt secretive about it, exclusive, like they were somewhere they weren't supposed to be. And to be fair, that was true. But back then, rubbing their shoulders up against the adult world had been exciting--and in the Tenenbaum family, it had even been normal.

But the trouble with being a prodigy, thought Margo, was that by the time you really grow into that grown-up world, you might realize it's something you don't want to claim.

Margot flipped the page in the atlas to a table of countries' gross national products. "Sometimes I wish we'd never left," she said, staring down at the page as she spoke, and for a moment it was quiet, save for the groups of restless schoolchildren on field trips. "That we'd stayed here forever. It was sort of perfect."

"But we did leave," Richie said at last, sliding the atlas toward himself and closing the cover.

"You've always had a talent for stating the obvious," she said, but the sarcasm in her voice was overshadowed by an undercurrent of fondness. Then she ran her thumb along the inside of his wrist, where the skin still felt smooth and delicate from the scarring years ago, and her wooden finger brushed against the side of his hand.

"You know what I mean," he said. "No matter what, we would've had to go home eventually. Sometime. When we got too big to fit into the nooks and crannies, or when my teeth had all fallen out from drinking too much root beer."

Margot scowled. "Those cavities were your own fault. It was only because you didn't bring your toothbrush with you."

"We all learn from our mistakes," he said, and his palm slid up against hers, slightly sweaty. And her hand locked into place like it fit there, really fit there, wooden finger and all.

"Not true. Some of us are doomed to repeat them."

Richie smiled again. "But not us, right? I'd like to think there's always hope for the members of the distinguished Tenenbaum family to fix our horrible, frequent cock-ups."

"But don't forget, I'm an adopted Tenenbaum," said Margot, smiling back at Richie. "Still, there could be hope for me--for us, really." She shrugged. "You could buy me a root beer, maybe," she said, standing on her toes to whisper into his ear, and hand in hand, they followed the neon signs that led to the museum exit. Richie gave her hand a squeeze as they strode down the steps out front, and she squeezed back harder, wondering if finally she might have gotten it right.


End file.
